


Birds of a Feather (Gotta Stick Together)

by orphan_account



Series: WinterHawk Week 2k15 [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Clint is shit at emotions, Hate at First Sight, M/M, Winterhawk Week, everyone else is 100000 percent done with him being a doof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is he hates Bucky Barnes.<br/>It's hypocritical and self-depreciating at best, but it's still a cold spike of hatred he feels whenever he sees Bucky with Steve or Nat.<br/>Or<br/>They say you hate people that remind you of yourself. They also say that statistically, you're more likely to fall in love with someone similar to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather (Gotta Stick Together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shankyknitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shankyknitter/gifts).



> Prompt: Hate at first sight that develops into love.
> 
> Warning for Clint's self-hatred and depressive thoughts.

Draw back, steady, breathe, aim, and let go.  
Thwack  
The arrow hits the target, less than a centimeter away from where Clint had wanted it to hit. He frowns. Either his arms are getting tired (and based off his sweat level, that's likely) or his memory of the target's position shifted from where the target actually was (also likely considering the tension he feels on his left temple). Either way, he decides to take a break and go grab a juice box from the gym's fridge before he takes any more shots. He's not as relaxed as he thought he'd be by this point. It's all so stupid, he knows. But he can't help but feel what he feels, no matter how stupid it might be.  
The truth is he hates Bucky Barnes.  
It's hypocritical and self-depreciating at best, but it's still a cold spike of hatred he feels whenever he sees Bucky with Steve or Nat.  
They're too similar is the problem Clint decides as he stabs the straw through the juice box. They're both disabled ex-brainwashed snipers with weird histories with Nat. Oh, and they both really love Steve. Clint knows he can't fault anyone for that point, after all, almost everyone in the United States is in love with Steve, but in Bucky's case, it's different, because Steve actually loves Bucky too. They're almost always together, laughing on good days, sitting silently on bad days. There's literally no way Clint can compete with that. Even as the best archer in the world, he can't compete with Barnes' work with a sniper rifle. Plus, with Bucky, they don't have to worry about him not hearing a command or request since his damned ears aren't busted like Clint's.  
All in all, Clint's more than likely going to lose both Steve and his spot on the team to Bucky which really isn't fair. He could deal with Bucky and Steve being a thing, but the team means so much to him. He still can't face a majority of SHIELD, but the team makes Clint feel safe, atoned. It's not fair that Bucky is more than likely to take this from him.  
He finishes off the juice box and throws it in the trash before JARVIS sighs at him and reminds him that littering can lead to ant infestations. Clint bets that even JARVIS would prefer Bucky to him. That would be terrible.  
He looks over at his bow and quiver before he frowns. He's too caught up in all his self-pity and paranoia to continue shooting for the moment. He needs air and sunlight, somewhere far away from the tower. He needs a place all his own so that when things go to shit (as they tend to do in his life) he'll be fine without them. He tries not to think about how much that hurts.  
\---  
It's three a.m. when he leaves. He never kept much at the tower, so packing wasn't hard. He looks around his room one last time with the duffel bag in his hand and almost laughs at how empty it looks despite him living there for years.  
In the elevator, he asks after a yawn, "JARVIS, you have a tracker in my car?"  
"Yes, Agent Barton." JARVIS responds as calm as ever.  
"Disable it."  
"I'm afraid you don't have permission or the necessary access codes to disable it, Agent."  
Clint sighs. Of course. "Can't do it just this once?"  
"I am sorry, Agent Barton, but no. My safety protocols for the team can only be removed in dire circumstances or if they are no longer needed." Clint snorts at that.  
"Fine Jarv, I get it." The doors open to the garage and he spares a few mournful seconds staring at his 1971 Dodge Dart Demon before pressing the lobby button in the elevator. Looks like he'll have to get reacquainted with old Greyhound.  
"May I ask why you're leaving, Agent Barton?" JARVIS inquires as the doors slide shut.  
Clint shrugs, knowing full well his answer is probably going to be broadcasted to the rest of the team later. "Just my time to go." He readjusts the duffel on his shoulder as the doors reopen.  
"I'm afraid I don't understand."  
"Don’t worry about it, J. It's not important." It's a struggle to say that instead of saying he's not important, but he's pretty sure if he said that, JARVIS would immediately call the team down on him.  
"In any case, I shall await your return, Agent." JARVIS's voice fades as he steps out of the elevator and makes his way to the front door. Clint nods a greeting to the guards and front desk attendants as he goes.  
When he finally steps out of the door, it's like a piece of his heart is torn away.  
Stupid Bucky Barnes, stupid Clint for thinking he'd have one thing in his life that the stupid cosmic forces at large wouldn't rip away from him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
He wanders the streets for a few hours before finally finding the Greyhound bus stop and booking a ticket for Iowa. He's got safe houses all over the world, but the old farmhouse is the only one that he's kept secret from SHIELD and Nat. He settles down in the station and waits for the bus to come, flicking his hearing aids off and pulling his beanie down. He blends in, hopefully.  
Half an hour later as he's on his way to dreamland, he gets a tap on his arm. The touch is gentle and leathery, but there's power behind it. When Clint finally opens his eyes and looks up, he curses loudly, to the disdain of several other people waiting for their rides.  
Of course the universe had to futz with him more and send the problem in the flesh and blood after him.  
Bucky's lips are moving, but Clint can't catch any words aside from 'you' and 'head' though, there's a chance that second one is 'said.'  
"My aids are off." He mumbles, not even caring that the words are more than likely a little odd sounding. He looks back down at his things, really not wanting to deal with his problems. He only has 45 minutes until his bus gets here. Couldn't the universe have waited just a bit longer before deciding to torture him again? He feels a huff, before Bucky stomps away, comes back, and sits down next to him. There's a newspaper thrust onto Clint's lap and on the edge in nice print (just another way that Barnes outshines him, great) he can read: You are being a child.  
He shrugs in response to the words and the Bucky snatches the paper back, scribbling more before handing it back to Clint. 'Is this because of me?' is right above the headline. Clint glances over and sees that Bucky's jaw is set, his eyes are guarded. He almost looks guilty.  
Clint shrugs and raises a hand to tip it back and forth. Kinda. He's still not happy about this situation and refuses to turn on his aids.  
'Because I'm the Winter Soldier?' Clint furrows his brows and shakes his head. He really can't hate Bucky for that, no matter how much he wants. He can't even completely hate the guy for shooting Nat, because she's already forgiven Bucky for it and mind control's a bitch.  
'Then why?'  
Clint shakes his head and mimes zipping his mouth shut. He definitely doesn't want to talk about this with Barnes. The wound is too fresh for him to talk about it, let alone to talk to the partial source of his problems.  
'I'm sorry.' Barnes looks resigned, which is not what Clint expected. He gets up and Clint watches as he takes the pen back to the ticket booth before pulling out a card and -  
Oh hell no.  
Clint stomps over and jabs at Barnes' shoulder to get him to turn. Barnes just ignores him until he gets his ticket. They make eye contact for a second. Clint is seething, Barnes is calm. Before he can start on any of his accusations or whatever, Barnes makes his way back to Clint's bag.  
Clint has no choice but to follow and hiss, "What are you doing?"  
Barnes speaks, and Clint can hear the noise but no actual sounds. Growling, he turns on his aids.  
"Finally." He hears in Barnes's stupid nice voice. "I'm coming with you."  
"No, you're not." Seriously, what did the world have against Clint?  
"Yes, I am. The team's all told me how much trouble you get into, and you obviously don't want to go back to the tower for whatever reasons, so I'm coming with you."  
Of course the team rattled him out on his injuries and his horrible karma. Of course. "That doesn't mean I need a babysitter."  
"Not saying that. Just thought I could provide some backup if you need it." His voice goes softer and if Clint had his regular non-Starkified hearing aids, he doubts he would hear what comes next, "I know you're more than capable of handling your own problems, Clint."  
Clint huffs and crosses his arms. "Why are you even here?"  
"JARVIS made it sound like you needed some company."  
"What I need is some time."  
"Join the club, Barton."  
The rest of the wait passes in silence. Barnes doesn't attempt to make conversation, which is nice. It isn't until they're 10 minutes into their bus ride that Bucky speaks up again.  
"Do you hate me?" They're close enough to the back of the bus for Clint to relax as much as he can with the circumstances the way they are.  
"Kinda, yeah."  
Barnes nods. "Why?"  
Clint snorts. "Kinda complicated there."  
"I think I deserve to know why you hate me when we've barely interacted." He pauses. "I didn't... I didn't try to kill you, did I?"  
And the kicker is how apologetic he sounds. It makes guilt roll in Clint's stomach, like this is only his fault (which it kinda is) and he's just being an idiot. "No. We surprisingly never crossed paths." Clint sighs and leans forward on his thighs. "We're too similar is all. But you're better than me." He whispers the last part as he turns to look out the window, watching the sun slowly crawl up the horizon behind them.  
"And you're leaving because of that."  
"I mean, they're not gonna need me cuz you're here and - yeah, basically." It feels like defeat to admit it out loud.  
"They all told me how dumb you can be, but this really takes the cake."  
Clint turns to tell him, "Hey, fuck you" but the words die in his throat when they make eye contact.  
"You know what they've told me for months? Without you, they wouldn't have won half the battles they've been in. That you'd be an amazing team leader if you actually realized how great of a tactician you are. That you never give up until it's clear that you're out for the count, and even then you're still helping direct them and fighting with what you've got left. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, and how to flow between them while covering your own hide. And you're telling me -" Barnes pauses to take a breath, "You're telling me that you think they're just going to get rid of you because another sniper's joined the team? How damn stupid are you, Clint Barton? Do you really not realize how amazing you are?" He shakes his head and swears beneath his breath. "I spend weeks trying to figure out why you're avoiding me and how to ask you to target practice with me, and it turns out you're dumber than Steve was a tiny punk."  
Clint turns to look at the seat in front of him, not knowing how to fight off the blush and the almost tears he can feel. The team loves him. The team wants him. "I'm sorry." He says, mainly because he doesn't know what else to say or do.  
Bucky sighs next to him. "You still thinking about running away from the team?" Clint shakes his head. "Good, because I'm sure Nat would have my head if I didn't convince you that we need and want you on the team." He pauses, letting the words slide over Clint. "Guess it's kinda late to get off though. What's in Iowa anyways?"  
The moment is gone, taking Clint's hatred with it. He was such a goon. "My family's home."  
"They know you're coming?"  
He shrugs. "They're dead so..."  
"That's rough."  
"Nah, not really." Clint winces at his own indifference. "I mean, I miss my ma sometimes, but dad was an asshole and made me deaf." He shrugs. "Not much love lost there."  
Bucky nods. "Do you want me to head back when we get there?"  
"No, you should come with me." He looks over and sees that Bucky looks as surprised as he feels. He'd been planning on saying yeah and thanking Bucky for helping him get his head out of his ass, but he actually finds that he wants Bucky's company. "Yeah. I think that'd be nice." He murmurs, still not sure what's come over him.  
This is his secret place, solely his, and he's welcoming someone he thought he hated into it.  
The world works in strange ways.  
"Sounds nice. Don't have any spare clothes though."  
"If you think I'm gonna complain about you walking around shirtless, you're the dumb one." Futz. He really needs to stop doing that. "I mean, uh..." Scratch that, Clint's still the dumb one.  
"Yeah? You realize I won't have any pants either. Or underwear, for that matter." Bucky's looking him up and down and, wow. Clint really wasn't expecting this.  
"You sound completely fine with this."  
"Why do you think I came after you? Everyone's always talking about how great you are. I might have a bit of a crush on you after everything I've heard." Bucky is smiling at him now, a little nervous but definitely still pleasant to look at.  
"I did say how similar we are." Clint counters. "Maybe we'll find out some other similarities we share."  
It's a start.  
\---  
When he calls from the old phone a few hours later, he can feel her rolling her eyes at him.  
"Only you two would run off in the middle of the night without letting anyone know."  
"I was being dumb, yeah."  
"You're impossible sometimes." She pauses. "So you two are getting along now?"  
Clint looks over to where Bucky's curled up on the old ratty couch with a stray cat and smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, we're great." He says softly.  
Nat groans. "You already sound like a love-struck fool. Don't push him away, Clint. You'll be good together." He doesn't bother asking how she already knows what they've barely established. "Come back in a week or so."  
"I promise." He says before hanging up and going over to the couch to card his hand through Bucky's hair.  
"Mmmn?" Bucky stirs, much to the cat's protest.  
"We've got Nat's blessing." Clint greets him. "I'm gonna whip up some food. You get some more sleep."  
Bucky sighs and slips back to sleep, but only after he tilts his head up and kisses Clint's palm.  
Yeah, this feels good.


End file.
